Eulogy, or something
by narie the waitress
Summary: Post-series. Wakaba has a chance meeting with someone in a cemetery, and it doesn't change her life much, but just makes for pleasant conversation between her and a friend...


All disclaimers apply. Please, do not sue. Shoujo Kakumei Utena belongs to many people, among who I do not count myself.

Mild spoiler warning for the whole series.

PG-13 for language

Eulogy, or something

By narie_the_waitress

     "Roses are so pretty, don't you think?"

     "Yes. Yes, they are..."

     "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that!"

     "Do what?"

     "What I just did... you don't really like roses, do you? I mean, you look like the kind of person who used to like them, but just doesn't anymore."

     "I'm not too sure... I don't really like them; they have too many thorns, but something tells me that I should... I think they are beautiful until you get too close to them, then they wound you."

     "Oooh... so, what are you doing here?"

     "Just... looking for someone. Visiting old graves."

     "And is this person you're looking for, um..."

     "Dead? No, I don't think so. I hope not, anyhow. I would have felt it, had they died."

     "Oh, someone close to you, then?"

     "Yes... I think."

     "You think??"

     "I'm not too sure. Lately I've been feeling like I don't really know anything anymore, like there is something I should remember that I can't."

     "I, I, I don't know anything about that, but is there any way I can help you?"

     "I don't know. I'm looking for this person. Here, have a look"

     "Hm.... hm... hmmm... Nope, can't say I've seen her. But she looks somewhat familiar, somehow."

     "Oh, don't worry then. I wasn't hoping for much, in any case."

     "I'm sorry, though. I really wish I could have helped you some more."

     "Don't worry about it, Shinohara-san"

     "Ne? How do you know my name?"

     "You were standing over the grave of Shinoraha Kento, and so I simply assumed you were related. My apologies if I am mistaken."

     "On, no, wow... you're right. He is, well, was, my grandfather, he died one year ago. I felt like visiting him today, for some reason. Just an inexplicable hunch, you know. Like I should be here today, because I was needed here, or something like that. I'm not too sure, but I brought him some roses, as well; white roses, he always liked those best..."

     "Are they your favorite too, Shinohara-san?"

     "Wakaba, do call me Wakaba. But, no, no, I think my favorite roses are pink. I don't know why, they're just the best ones, you know... Isn't pink supposed to stand for friendship, or something like that?"

     "I wouldn't know, Shinohara-san."

     "Wakaba. Don't worry about it, though... I was just musing out loud; I do that quite often. My mother tells me I do it too often, as a matter of fact, so don't mind me."

     "It's quite all right with me, Shinohara-san."

     "You know, you remind me of someone I used to go to school with. A friend of a friend, I think... she was a nice girl, she had lots of friends and everything, but I thought she didn't have good taste, because she didn't think that the boy that I liked was anything noteworthy... she didn't like him in the least, actually."

     "Oh, really?"

     "Yup! I know it sounds cruel, but well, it's not like she knew me, anyhow, so it doesn't really make a big difference." 

     "You think, Shinohara-san? I don't know, I never had the pleasure of meeting her, but I somehow get the feeling, from your simple story, that you two could have gotten along rather well."

     "You think so?"

     "To tell you the truth, yes."

     "Well... there's nothing I can do about it anymore."

     "Don't think that, Shinohara-san. In any case, you will forgive me... I need to get going; I need to find this person."

     "Oh... ok then... good luck with your search..."

     "Tenjou. Tenjou Utena."

     "Good luck with your search, then, Tenjou-san. And a good day as well."

     "To you too, Shinohara-san."

     So much for friendship, then... 

but you don't understand, i hate dreaming, hate it, hate it, hate it with a passion, because my dreams are nice, and safe, and loving and tender, and everything my life is not, and in the morning i wake up and feel sorely cheated and robbed, like someone has taken from me something they didn't have a right to in the first place, and that is all i have been left with, my broken shards of a life that was never worth anything in the first place, not really, and there is always the feeling of something missing, something gone, something that the grinch did steal from me while i slept, even if it wasn't christmas when he did it.

     "Ne, ne, Wakaba, are you ok?" 

     "... Why, yes, yes I am... why do you ask?" 

     "You are quiet, that's all."

     "I'm just thinking."

     "Oh."

     "I came across someone today while visiting grandpa..."

     "... Someone? Someone... you know?" 

     "I don't know. I don't think I know her - I came across a woman, you know, - but I also think I do."

     "Er, just how does that work, again?"

     "I know, it's silly, isn't it?"

     "Slightly. But I know how you feel, anyhow..." 

     "Really?"

     "It has happened to me before... I see someone and I go 'Well, that's someone I've never met in my whole life, but hey, they do look awfully familiar.' Then I find out that they're just someone famous, so maybe that was what happened to you." 

     "That was probably it, now that you mention it... she was very pretty, so probably if we flip through some magazines we will find her there..."

     "You want to do that?"

     "Now? Uh uh... not at all... I like the mystery bit: Shinohara Wakaba meets mysterious woman in graveyard! Sounds a lot better than Shinohara Wakaba meets Tenjou-san in graveyard, even if you squeak and say it really quick."

     "Yes, I do suppose it does..."

     "Doesn't it?!"

     Squeak and say it really quick. Girl's got a point to prove, after all... 

and, oh, you know what they say, don't you, about life being a bitch, and then you dying and everything, but you don't,  oh, no you don't, you don't die, not when life plays meddlesome, or for that matter, not when life godplays, because she hands you what she wants, and when that happens, you had better deal with it, because there isn't a single way out, a single way out from this waking nightmare, the one you wake up to every morning after finding little solace in those dreams that are just lies, lies of the largest caliber, a make believe world to play hide and seek in, a magic world where time flows too quickly but no one ever ages, and as the sun rises and streams through your window, and as it warms you up, you fling the covers off yourself little by little as you sleep, but then a cloud comes by and covers it up and the sudden cold wakes you up, and you wake up to the fact that indeed, life is a bitch, but you're not going to die, not today, anyhow.

      Oh, it just wasn't fair, at all, no, it most certainly wasn't. She had done what she could to stop her, to stop her from dueling her "darling oniisama" and from letting either one of them get close to the Rose Gates, because those gates weren't meant to be opened...

      Jumping off the building, even. Had Utena been angry at her, for doing something like that? Had she felt the slightest bit of _anything_ asides guilt? No, of course she hadn't, Utena, her meddlesome hero. Meddlesome all right, indeed. Who would have thought?

      She had done what she could, everything in her power short of locking Utena and Akio in a room together to dissuade Utena. It wasn't that she didn't want to be saved, not at all, it was something more along the lines of these are my swords, and no one else deserves them, because no one else did what I did. I earned the swords, and no else did, and last of all Utena.

      But Utena, darling, lovely, perseverant Utena, who wouldn't stop at anything, not daunted by the fact that she wanted to become a prince, something quite impossible. 

Supposedly, anyhow. She'd done better than anyone else before, so much better, so painfully better. She had become a prince. 

      Was that what she had wanted?  

      She could still remember that night in the church, with the coffin, with Akio playing god and deciding fates that weren't his to meddle with in the first place, and she could still remember that gentle girl who'd seen the Rose Bride's true suffering, and instead of being daunted had simply wished to save her, to break her cage of swords and give the Rose Bride a real life.

      And then, what, eight years later - nine? Who knew... - that same girl had shown up, telling a rather edited version of what had happened on that long-ago night and wishing to become a prince to rescue princesses. Talk about the subconscious governing her.

      My, but Freud would have enjoyed knowing those two... Akio and his phallic obsessions, Utena and her carefully repressed memories, unlocking a bit at a time, just enough to keep her moving, but never unveiling themselves. An unsolved mystery of sorts.   

      And now she was free, the mystery was unveiled in the final episode, as the story reached its climax and gave us all what we were expecting, a long awaited resolution, only to have your ideas of a happy ending be shattered by the disappearance of the main character under a rain of sentient - and angry - swords.

      After all, where was Utena?

      Where was her prince?

      A princess needs a prince, and so does a bride. We've got enough with only one princeless bride, we don't need another one. 

so, as i was telling you, life is nothing but a bitter woman, and why she chose me, out of the sludge of people out there, out of the flood of people out there, why she picked me out of the masses is nothing but a mystery to me and will remain that forever, it seems... i only wish that you'd stop asking, i only wish that you'd stop telling, i only wish that you'd all stop feeling pity for my soul and instead gave me a way out, please, please, that's all i want, all i never asked for, all i ever did was try to save someone, and i meant it, and i still do, and i saved them,and i was happy, but still, this is no way to be paid back, is it, this is no way to reward anyone, no one deserves this, and

i'm not going to say that least of all me, since i know people who have even worse claims than mine to this endless torture, but why, why, why did i only get this at the end, why did i not get to see whether she fled that coffin or not, why am i left walking, wandering and wondering forever?

      Ah, yes, so we're back to searching now. Searching is fun, I tell you... and besides, searching is a good activity, since it always ends. Things are always in the last place where you look for them, and before you say something, wouldn't it be awfully surprising if they weren't there either?

why did i go through all the trouble, why wasn't there a small brochure at the entrance, a small note, maybe just a little plaque at the entrance, a little something to illustrate the dangers involved in all this... i would have done it anyhow, oh, would i ever, but this, this little... surprise at the end of the road, this isn't what i bargained for. i wanted to save her, of course i wanted to save her. why else would i have gone up those damned stairs, anyhow?

     "So, tell me, Wakaba, did this 'mystery woman' talk or did she simply look at you and then you felt some strange understanding pass between the two of you, like in a cheap movie?"

     "Oi! She spoke, we talked for about 10 minutes and then she left, she was searching for someone and had to go." 

     "Well, what did you talk about?"

     "Oh, nothing much... we talked about roses; you see, my mystery woman didn't seem too fond of them. Oh, and we also talked about a woman she was looking for. She showed me a picture - the woman in it was very pretty, she had very big eyes, dark skin and purple hair, but she looked very eerie... - and asked me if I had seen her."

     "That's a strange way to look for someone..."

     "Isn't it?? That's what I thought too, she's not going to get very far unless she hires someone to help her..." 

     "And how do you know she wasn't a professional herself? Did you also talk about her job?"

     "Oh, no... she wouldn't be mystery woman in that case. No, she just didn't look like one, she looked more like someone in terrible pain. And she looked very sorrowful..." 

     "My, sounds like she's lost someone..."

     "That's what I thought, so I asked her, but she told me she didn't think the woman in the picture was dead..."

     "She didn't think? She's got an awful amount of searching to do if she isn't sure about that, at the very least." 

     "I know; I was feeling very sorry for her when she left. Looked like she needed a hug."

     "And we all know a Wakaba tackle-hug-glomp is the best thing to do in those cases, don't we?"

     And laughter filled the room.

but there is nothing you can do, not today, not tomorrow, so just give up and move along, thank you for your time, the complaints window is closed today, now would you please get the hell out of here and go back to your assigned place, insignificant being, "foolish lifeform," and just get on with your assigned tasks, which, according to this, are simply carrying the swords and searching, and with some luck, and time, you will find what you are looking for sometime, so don't despair, because even though she can be a bitch, life, ever so lovely, can also be magnanimous, you know, and all that gunk, and one day you will wake up and find that your dreams were nothing but pale imitations of your reality, but until that day, just deal with it, honeysugardarling...

     She walked home, feeling alone, hollow and devastated. Hollow, but not empty. Can't be empty, not when a million swords are sticking out from you, even if no one around you can see them, and when you flinch in sudden pain everyone around you thinks you're cursed with some strange psychosomatic disorder, when in truth you are nothing much more than a sentient pin-cushion. 

     Just a drop of water; - damned cold water, at that - that was all it had taken to change her life forever, to land her as the owner of a curse that could never be wiped out, but instead just passed down to someone else, someone undeserving of it, and watch them bear it until they in turn found someone to save them from their eternal torment.

     Opening the gates with her magic ring, given to her by a cruel prince in a cruel morning in the aftermath of a cruel night (see the parallels there?)

     And here she was, searching, crowned prince of some twisted version of Hades with no real, decent hope of escaping, but still alive, still dragging her sorry self on through life, hoping to find what she was looking for, what she had been looking for these past five years while a cloud hung over memory only to clear itself slowly, her and her carefully repressed memories, unlocking a bit at a time, just enough to keep her moving, but never unveiling themselves. An unsolved mystery of sorts. 

     And today was like yesterday, and undoubtedly like tomorrow. Five years of yesterdays piled up behind her... And while this particular yesterday hadn't lighted any fool the way to dusty death, it had still been a pretty bad day... She longed for the day when her tomorrow and her yesterday would be different, and she longed for it only because she knew it would come, because it was an escape from her daytime torment...

     She knew very little about predicting the future, but something inside her kept on telling her that tea laid somewhere in it. Tea together with a friend, with the girl from the picture.

      Yes, they would sit together and sip rose hip tea, but until then, so much for forgotten friendships and lost years, so much for cloud covers and princeless brides and damned cold drops of water...

     Until then, there was nothing to do but mourn the life she had lost, just dedicate an occasional eulogy to it as she carried on her search for that ever elusive something.

Commentary of all sorts is welcome.

narie

Madrid, Spain, July 12th, 2001.

(bakanarie@hotmail.com, 

http://planeta.terra.com.br/arte/bakanarie)


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